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The streets were crowded now that full night had hit and the blistering temperature had fallen to a comfortable level. Nadon passed through the markets and had no trouble losing the stormtrooper.

Nadon made his way to Kayson’s Weapons Shop. The gruff human who owned the shop had been in business forever, but Nadon had never set foot on the premises. It took less than five minutes to buy a heavy blaster and a holster that could be concealed under Nadon’s cloak, then the Ithorian was back out the door.

He wandered the streets aimlessly for nearly an hour, without any kind of plan. He simply hoped to spot Lieutenant Alima, pull his blaster, and shoot the human. Nadon knew that nothing much would be accomplished by such an action. He would kill the human, but in the end he would forfeit his own life. The precious Bafforr trees in his home would be uprooted by whoever took over his house, and one way or another he would never be able to speak with them again. But at least they would not be tortured by the likes of Alima.

He set the blaster to kill, then searched the streets until he heard the scream of fire sirens in his own neighborhood. For a moment he was struck with horror, fearing that Lieutenant Alima had already come to burn his house, but as he ran up the streets, Nadon saw that some trader’s home was a roaring blaze.

Firelight reflected from the column of smoke, lighting the streets and alleys in a dull red.

From every home, people were running toward the house with foam canisters. Water was so precious on Tatooine that the authorities would probably let the house burn rather than waste the water used in the foam extinguishers, but if the hapless owner of the home was in the vicinity, he might purchase enough canisters—at inflated prices—to rescue his valuables.

From the corner of his eye, on a side street, Nadon glimpsed the dark uniform of an Imperial officer with its billed cap. He turned just in time to recognize Lieutenant Alima walking steadfastly up the hill toward the fire.

Nadon rushed up the street parallel to Alima’s path, then turned down the next alley, running toward Alima. He pulled out his blaster, fumbled with it momentarily. The gun was not made to accommodate an Ithorian’s extraordinarily long, thin fingers, and Nadon could hardly get his finger into the trigger guard. He found that his hearts were racing, thumping wildly in his chest like a pair of Jawas in a struggle.

Nadon huddled against a wall, and checked the side streets in three directions. He could not see anyone. Good. There would be no witnesses.

Alima walked into the open not a meter away, and Nadon shouted his name, pulled the blaster up level to Alima’s face.

Alima turned and looked at the Ithorian calmly, glanced at the blaster.

“Come here, into the alley!” Nadon commanded. His mind was racing, and he could not think what to do. He thought of pulling the trigger, but he wanted to talk first, to tell Alima why he felt he had to do this. Perhaps, Nadon thought, he will even repent. Perhaps he will turn away from the Empire. Nadon’s legs cramped, aching with the desire to run, his species’ preferred response for coping with danger.

Alima laughed. “You can’t kill me with a blaster set to Stun,” he said. Nadon knew he had set the blaster to Kill, but feared that perhaps it had been knocked off the setting by accident. Nadon glanced down in horror at the indicator lights on the blaster, saw the red flashing lights of the Kill setting. Just as Nadon realized his mistake, Alima dodged from Nadon’s line of fire and pulled his own blaster.

A blue bolt tore through the darkness, slamming Nadon between his stomachs, knocking the big Ithorian into the stone wall at his back. For a moment, it seemed that a white sun blazed before his eyes, and then Nadon found himself lying on the ground in a dark alley, and someone was kicking his right eyestalk. Blood oozed from the wound. Nadon reached up with his long arms, trying to cover his eyestalks, and he moaned loudly.

His